


Serenity

by lasirene



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Cute, First Class fic, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:52:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasirene/pseuds/lasirene
Summary: "This . . . place between rage and serenity.  I cannot find it on my own it seems."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this probably a year ago, so it's not my best writing ever. May well have some typos. But mostly it's just some cute fluff based on something from Tumblr.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Charles..."

Those blue eyes glanced up through eyelashes, catching him rather suddenly. "Erik." It was half statement, half question. Obviously there was a curiosity as to why Erik had approached him.

"I don't have the hang of this," Erik said, his voice soft. Of course, he was a very independent person, and asking for help was not his strongest suit. But there was something about Charles; he did not judge him for being weak, and he was more than willing to help.

"But Erik, you were quite successful before." Charles rose swiftly from behind his desk, coming around to stand closer. "Remember what I told you?"

"The point between rage and serenity," Erik said softly, his head turned down. How could he explain to him just how difficult that was? To not be simply furious at everything, to have peace inside himself? No, it was impossible. Yes, that one moment had been there, had been his. But it was long gone, merely another beautiful memory locked away, though that one he could remember vividly. His presence, so close to him, the two of them so startlingly open, especially when Erik was normally so closed.

"Exactly," Charles said softly. "Come, we'll try again. Come on, Erik." Had he always said his name so fondly? Erik could not quite remember, though he oddly wished that it were so.

They returned to the exact place they had been before. But this time, Charles prompted him to sit down. They sat across from each other, rather close together. Those intense blue eyes searched Erik's own gaze, thoughtful and searching as ever. "What do you think you are struggling with most?"

"This . . . place between rage and serenity. I cannot find it on my own it seems." He could not break eye contact, even if he wanted to, he was sure he would be incapable of such a momentous feat. "Perhaps you could . . . ?" Here he waved a hand up by his temple.

Charles nodded slowly. "Of course. Clear your mind, my friend."

Erik closed his eyes, focusing on not thinking. There was stillness, and then it was as if he were a scrapbook, and Charles's gentle hands were flipping through the pages. He was going past so many memories that they blurred through Erik's mind. He could tell where Charles was going, to the brightest corner of his mind. Erik braced himself for seeing his mother's face, illumined by the warm, sweet glow of candlelight.

But that never appeared. Instead, it was himself as he was now, sitting with Charles. They were talking about something the students had done, something they found humorous. Their voices rose in joint laughter, such different sounds, but so wonderful. Charles reached a hand out, fingers just grazing Erik's arm . . .

The memory wavered, faltered, then fully fell away. Erik could not open his eyes, could not look at his friend. Charles was no fool; he would connect this easily. And what would happen then?

"Erik . . ." The other man's voice was uncertain, hesitant.

"Yes, Charles?" He opened his eyes then, looking at him with an expression that was almost blank but just bearing the hints of guilt.

"I don't quite understand," Charles whispered, leaning a bit closer with a frown in those beautifully blue eyes. "The memory . . ."

"I should go." Erik made to stand, but suddenly Charles had a startlingly firm grip on his arms.

"No. No, I don't think you should." Charles licked his lips slightly, uneasily. "Please, Erik."

He remained still, every muscle on high alert. He was ready to spring into action at the first possible sign of something going wrong.

"Why didn't you say anything . . . ?" Charles frowned at him more. "Why keep this to yourself?"

"Because . . ." He trailed off, wanting to look away from him, but miserably unable. "You would think differently of me."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

"It has potential to be . . ."

"But there is also potential for it to be beautiful."

Now Erik did not want to look away; now he could not look at the man before him enough. "What do you mean, Charles?"

"I . . . I mean-" He made a soft sound of frustration, and Erik was aware that color had risen startlingly to the man's cheeks. For once, Charles was faltering on words.

The urge was overpowering, and before Erik quite knew what he was doing, he had ducked forward, one hand curled along the curve of Charles's jaw, fingers sweeping around his neck and pushing slightly into his hair. His lips caught his ever so softly, more a whisper than a real touch. For a moment, there was nothing but his hammering, nervous heart.

Then a hand reaching hesitantly around his neck, pulling him closer. Lips coming alive beneath his, sweet and chaste. He thought for a moment he would collapse merely from relief. Instead, he leaned back, slowly breaking off their kiss.

"Does that have anything to do with what you meant perhaps?" His voice was lower, softer, tumbling out gruffly past his lips in a blast of breath.

"Everything. It has everything to do with it."

He found those blue eyes again. And he could not help but smile. He was rage. But he had found his serenity.


End file.
